


Time Warp

by Mari_Knickerbocker



Series: Like Two Ships in the Night [8]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood, X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: (let's just pretend it never happened), (let's see if you can spot them....hint hint they're obvious), (more like a brief misunderstanding...they work it out quickly), Canonical Character Death, Children of Earth Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Doctor Who Episodes Referenced, Not Beta Read, Not Britpicked, Not Miracle Day Compliant, Post-Torchwood, other fandoms referenced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 08:59:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15385314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mari_Knickerbocker/pseuds/Mari_Knickerbocker
Summary: After, after making that impossible choice and losing all that he cared for – his lover, his friends, his family and the legacy he tried to build in honor of the Doctor – he just could not stomach the thought of living on under the weight of all that guilt. He took the coward’s way out and fled … 21st century Earth clearly did not need or even wanted him around. Earth’s leaders were ready to step up to the plate and accept the responsibility of interacting with extraterrestrial life – they didn’t need a rogue Time Agent turned con-artist turned wannabe hero to run interference for them anymore. As for Gwen, she had Rhys and their child, she was well taken care of and Jack, Jack was a traveler first and foremost somewhere along the way he’d lost sight of that. It’d be good to get out amongst the stars again to see what he could see. This wasn’t a retreat this was a pioneer in search of adventure.Okay so it might have been more retreat than adventure hunting.





	Time Warp

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite. I had originally posted it a while back but wasn't happy with it so I took it down and now a few years later ..... Viola!
> 
>  

Out of all the things he loved in the galaxy, of which there was many, goodbyes didn’t even warrant an honorable mention. That said a lot really since he was first and foremost an equal opportunity offender. He’d always believed that life was only ever meant to be lived to the fullest. Now, however, with the downside of immortality so thoroughly demonstrated to him, again and again and again once more, Jack often wondered if he might need to rethink his position. By the time he was staring down the gullet of that particular conclusion something or someone would come along to convince him that his original assessment was the correct one. 

Jack _detested_ goodbyes. 

It was an utter bitch to outlive your loved ones. Even for those with an average lifespan; being immortal merely rubbed salt into the wounds. For Jack, more than anyone else, Death was public enemy number one. 

They were always leaving him; flying off beyond the veil where he could not follow. That’s where everything went in the end – his hopes, his dreams, his lovers, his _family_ \- all of it managed to shake off its mortal coil except for Jack. He could not ‘go quietly into the night’ willingly or otherwise. Everyone got to saunter off into greener pastures whilst he was left behind – Jack was always left behind. He’s was so over this party for one bullshit.

It is in moments like these that Jack truly wished he could hate Rose for what she did to him. And he really wished that the Doctor had coddled him instead of confirming the god awful truth Jack had long ago begun to suspect for himself. Seriously the least he could have done was shown a little decency and humored Jack; he could have pretended to go looking for a cure anything really. Instead the Doctor skipped over any bedside manner and had gotten straight to the point _fixed point in time Jack blah blah blah._ God Jack really wanted to hate the Time Lord; he could almost bring himself to hate him if he wasn’t so dreamily scrumptious (and a good man to boot). For the sake of his own sanity Jack should stop letting people off the hook just because they appealed to his libido.

Although to be fair the day he stopped letting his libido do half (if not all) of his thinking would be the day he was well and truly dead….So that wasn’t happening any time in the near future.

This time, however, it wasn’t his sex drive doing the thinking for him but his heart. Jack tried; truly he had tried, after the deaths of Ianto and Steven after Alice’s disownment of him he’d traveled trying to find a reason to stay. Then the House of the Dead happened and the rift closed and he could honestly no longer think of any possible reason to remain. He’s done with Earth, paid his dues and all that. After all he was only kicking around Cardiff to wait for the Doctor and that reunion went over like a lead balloon. Torchwood was done – it had literally imploded from within with him at the epicenter – and Gwen didn’t need him. She’d never needed him and the sooner he disappeared then the sooner she’d realized how much better off she was without him and his penchant for misadventure. She had Rhys and a child; a family and a life that was far more than Jack could ever give her.

Recent history proved just how much he wasn’t cut out to be a family man. Let alone someone who could provide for another’s happiness – the only thing he was ever truly good at where endings (which could explain why he hated them so damn much).

Gwen understood, or at least he hoped she did. He couldn’t bear to stick around and watch her be a wife for Rhys and a mother to Anwen. In his heart he could not begrudge Gwen her happiness but he also could not bear to witness it. He was sick and tired on forever missing out on a happily ever after and did not care to have anyone else’s shoved in his face. Jack’s over it.

Which would, naturally, explained why he was currently off planet sulking in some extraterrestrial dive bar gallantly getting drunk off his ass. He did not want to be able to think for the next millennium let alone the rest of the evening.

“Hey sailor,” a voice that’s far too chipper for his current mood intrudes on his moping. “What’s with the long face?”

Atypically Jack doesn’t even bother to check out the owner of the voice let alone acknowledge them. He just wants whoever it is to slither on off the barstool they’d just slipped onto and leave him the fuck alone. He buries his head in his drink hoping that the intruder would wise up and get the message without him having to say a word.

Jack’s not interested in being picked up by a stranger in some seedy bar, not tonight. He’s actually been considering the virtues of celibacy (alright he’s no saint and he’s certainly not an idiot; Jack knows himself well that’s why he’s just having a one night stand with celibacy). He certainly had no plans about going home with some chirpy bimbo after such a lame-assed attempt at a pick up line. He did have some standards after all, not many and they certainly weren’t set in stone, but he did have them.

He kept a cold shoulder towards the stranger and hunkered down praying that they would realize the futility of their efforts and leave him be. Unfortunately Jack had made his plans without taking into account their innate stubbornness. 

“Jack Harkness,” the voice commented losing its chirpiness and becoming demanding whilst the owner of the voice slapped his arm to get his attention. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

Suddenly he recognized that silvery voice as concern and affront roughed its usually honeyed tones. Whipping around he now found himself staring at a very familiar woman, slack jawed with astonishment and one hand clasped over the spot where she had hit him. His eyes raked over her taking in the familiar unruly mess of tawny curls and those unnervingly sharp golden eyes. Never in a million years would Jack have expected to find her _**here**_. Of all the places she could pop up a sleazy bar in some spaceport would have never crossed his mind.

“Avery,” He manages to choke out and is a little ashamed of his own incredulity, to be perfectly frank. “What are you doing here? How the hell did you get off planet? Wait, do we even know each other right now?”

“Well I did just call you by name didn’t I?” She retorts relentlessly poker faced in her delivery and despite his maudlin mood Jack finds himself cracking a grin.

“Alright, alright I yield,” he chuckled flagging down the bartender and ordering her a drink as well as another for himself; “but how?”

“Little thing called space travel in the 21st century,” is her next cheeky retort even as she takes a generous sip out of the drink placed in front of her. She pauses a thoughtful frown on her face as she studies the electric blue-green cocktail for a moment before shrugging and taking another swallow.

“I am familiar with the concept,” he deadpans taking a swig of his own sonic screwdriver (he just _adores_ the fact that there’s a drink named after the Doctor’s favorite tool and no one else but him and a few select individuals actually got to get the joke. Sadly, as far as Jack knew, the Doctor’s one of the many left out of the loop).

“What I meant was how, exactly, are you managing it,” he presses feeling that this was something Torchwood should be looking into and keeping an eye on.

The thought brings him up short. There is no more Torchwood to look into and monitor anything anymore. Frowning he swallows hard, jaw clenched and attempting to blink back tears, before draining his glass in one go. She watches him tracking the pain and sorrow as it crosses his features but not commenting on what she sees, not yet anyways.

“The organization I work for is perfectly capable of coordinating some space travel.”

“Organization…..Which organization is that Avery,” He’s getting tired of asking questions and not getting any real answers – straight or otherwise. Jack never was one for games; not unless they were games of his own invention and involved a heck of a lot less clothing than what they were currently sporting. 

“Oh you know,” she’s flippant but at the same time there’s a cageyness to her that suggests she’s not entirely comfortable. “Overly fond of rules and regulations, believes they have a monopoly on all alien related events occurring within the UK and the rest of the Western world.” She rattles off using her fingers to count down each fact; “Have a strange prejudice against sharing and doesn’t like to play well with others, also they have this utter fascination with uniforms. Although that one I can understand, if it’s your sort of kink. Those red berets, I mean yowzah!”

It’s not until she reaches her fifth and final point mentioning red berets that the penny finally drops for him.

“U.N.I.T!! You’re working for bloody U.N.I.T.,” he exclaims his voice coming out sharper and louder than he had intended. But really, it was freaking U.N.I.T. and totally not the answer he was expecting; not from her.

“Oi! Keep it down will ya Jacky boy! No need to go telling the whole sodding galaxy now is there?”

“But U.N.I.T. Avery, c’mon, of all the people you could work for you go and pick _them_!” He’s actually a little disgusted, not to mention disappointed, with her right now. “This is insane why would you ever go and work for U.N.I.T? They’re douchebags! We could have used you in Cardiff,” he grumbles mostly to himself knowing full well that she could hear him. He goes to finish off his current drink when a thought occurs to him and he roughly grabs Avery’s arm dragging her halfway off her perch.

“Tell me you weren’t involved in blowing up the Hub tell me! So help me god if you were I’ll – “ he stops abruptly; unable to think of a threat horrific enough to express the depths of his rage.

Calmly she covers the hand he’s got clamped on her arm with one of her own and pats it gently despite the nearly bone crushing grip he has on her. Jack knows that she can easily break his hold on her (she could snap his fingers in a heartbeat) but she makes no move to do so. Instead Avery simply accepts his manhandling of her as if it were her due. She just runs a soothing hand up his arm to rest it consoling in the crook of his neck letting her thumb move in calming circles over the pulse point just below his jawline, the rest of her fingers cupping his nape. The gentleness and warmth of her touch helping to sooth the ache in his heart as well as dampen the sudden flare of his temper.

With a thought she could extend her claw and rip out his carotid artery but Jack doesn’t consider the potential vulnerability of having her hand at his throat – not because he’s arrogant but because he knows her; Avery’s a mother at heart. 

“Jack, I had nothing to do with any of that bullshit. I swear to you – nothing.”

Gods help him he believes her. There’s no way anyone could produce the level of regret and sympathy in her voice unless they meant it. And there’s no one who could understand what he’s feeling right now in this moment better than her. Well, no one other than the Doctor. But then again Jack didn’t really think the Doctor fully grasped the nuances of human feeling. Besides, he sincerely doubted that the Doctor would just show up out of the blue to offer him comfort like this – there would be no Doctor to the rescue, not this time. Not any time Jack managed to get his heart broken.

“But why are you working for them Avery? Last time we met you were on SHIELD’s payroll, why jump ship?” He doesn’t bother to stifle the whine in his voice.

“Bite your tongue boy, who says I have,” she shushes him her tone still mellow and consoling but the rebuke unmistakable. “Shield ain’t so popular ‘round these parts, in these times, and I don’t need the fact that I’m a consultant doing a bit of corporate espionage for them getting out.”

“You wha?”

“C’mon Jack, think about it, who better to send in as a spy than some immortal mutant with no reason for loyalty to anyone or anything and is comfortable with everything,” the self-mockery palpable. 

“Wait, hold on,” Jack balked. Something’s just occurred to him that should have been obvious from the start but he’ll have to do a little digging to confirm it; “What year is it for you back on Earth I mean.”

She tilts her head then favors him with a raised eyebrow and a quirky affectionate smile. It’s almost like she’s watching a puppy trying to learn something as fundamental as how to master stairs.

“1975, just six years after the so-called ‘space race’,” he can practical hear the quotation marks in her voice. “Evidently the moon landing was nothing more than a publicity stunt meant to keep the plebs in the dark and the Ruskies off our tails – seems like UNIT and various other secret organization types already had the tech for intergalactic travel.”

“Not possible,” oh he has no doubt that every single secret organization in existence has been keeping the true capabilities of their tech to themselves, hoarding it like the vicious trolls they can be (he can judge, he did the same at Torchwood) he just does not want to believe what she’s saying. “We don’t meet for the first time until 2006 in Cardiff and that’s a fact Ave! Our first meeting doesn’t occur in some slum bar in – ”

“February ’08 according to the calendar I saw in the ladies,” she supplies.

“While it’s still only 1975 for you; you don’t know me now, you _can’t_ know me it hasn’t happened for you yet!”

There’s something about that phrasing that’s irritatingly familiar to him but he can’t place it. Doesn’t even have time to try and track it down when he’s left flabbergasted by her unexpected giggling (and make no mistake its actual giggles he’s hearing from her – although somewhat evil giggles so that makes him feel slightly better about the state of the world).

“Wow, you really believe that our first meeting is thirtyish years in my future,” she giggles some more leaning forward to bump their foreheads together. “Guess I’m a better actress than I thought.”

He’d like to respond to that he really would but he’s having a hard time marshaling his thoughts and getting his mouth to work properly since she’s left him utterly dumbfounded. It’s a familiar feeling for Jack when it comes to Avery – if he had a dollar for everything that’s happened in the past twenty minutes he could buy another round. Not even the Doctor is capable of leaving him gobsmacked like her. He’s about to get back to her acting comment when he’s jolted by another sudden realization and he finds himself inexplicably furious with her.

“It hasn’t happened for you,” he damn near growls his voice cracking with its intensity. “You **don’t _know_** what bullshit I’m referring to how can you apologize for it or reassure me that you had nothing to do with it!”

Actually on second thought he’s understandably furious with her. He wants to know where she gets off denying an accusation for which she has no contextual knowledge and then apologizing to him. Who the hell does she think she is taking on that kind of blame when the incident in question is thirty years away into her future? God almighty does he want to shake her and does via the convenient death grip he still has on her arm. And just like before Avery passively allows him to manhandle her and that, perversely, infuriates him even more. Seriously where the fuck does she get off doing this! Oh he wants to rage at her then at the universe for making a mockery out of him, turning both his life and his grief into the butt of one of their goddamn jokes.

“Whelp you got me there Jacky boy,” she’s unrepentant in the face of his anger. “It’s probably true that whatever’s got your goat hasn’t happened for me yet but that doesn’t mean I cannot recognize loss and someone grieving when I see it.”

He’s honestly ashamed of himself then all the fight seeping right out of him and sensing the change in his mood she finally disentangles herself from him with one last pat to his hand as she removes it from her arm. She looks out over the bar giving him a moment to compose himself. he watches her as she people watches marveling at how she tried to - wants to – bring him comfort he’s been nothing but a dick to her. Just when he thinks he’s got her all figured out she does something that shows him she’s even more of a wonder than he already believed her to be. Jack’s still studying her when he sees her stiffen in recognition before suddenly turning back to face him.

“Tell ya what Jack,” Avery offers with a bright smile that rings false, “go get off your chest whatever it is that’s weighing you down then look me up when I have all the facts and are capable of understanding your current plight. Deal?”

She doesn’t wait for a response, simply clasps him on the shoulder and walks away from the bar. Jack’s left staring dejectedly at the bar top and the empty glass of his fourth (?) drink of the evening wishing that it would magically replenish itself. He’s mournfully searching for the meaning of the universe in an empty cocktail glass when another drink appears directly under his nose. Jack looks up to regard the bartender quizzically and is given a vague gesture and a muttered:

“From the gentleman over there.” 

Jack reads the note that accompanied the drink then looks up across the bar in the same direction Avery had been staring off into. Standing there watching him is the Doctor in all of his brown suited, trench coated glory watching Jack as he drinks away his sorrows. The Doctor nods at the paper in Jack’s hand and smiles slightly. He reads the note again; _His name is Alonso_.

A sailor plops down onto a bar stool on Jack’s right. After giving the younger man a quick once over he looks back to the Doctor who gives him an encouraging nod. There’s something final about the gesture but Jack doesn’t examine it. He downs the remaining swallow in his glass and squares his shoulders. It's not until a great deal later that evening that Jack remembers that she had been there at all. Right then he’s a little too focused on the young shipman Alonso and his distracting eyes. It’s enough to turn anyone’s head.

“So, Alonso…Going my way?”

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

He does not re-emerge from the tantalizing haze caused by the singular talents of one Midshipman Alonso Frame for a fortnight. If Jack were anyone else he might be embarrassed by the fact that nearly three weeks slipped away as he lost himself to delightful debauchery. But he’s Jack and he’s never been ashamed of his body and the joys of the flesh. Part of him (mainly his heart) does feel some guilt. He’s still mourning Ianto and yet he’s gone and fallen into the first pair of open arms available. It’s his patented recipe for getting over a broken heart – his body wants to just move on and embrace life. 

It’s thanks to a gentle reminder from Alonso that Jack finally recalls bumping into the mutant.

They are sprawled out indolently across a king sized bed with the sheets and blankets tangled in between their entwined legs. Alonso’s lying on his side absentmindedly ghosting intricate patterns across Jack’s bare stomach whilst Jack is on his back with one arm tucked up under his head. The other is dangling off the edge of the bed hand wrapped lazily around an open (half empty) bottle of liquor. 

Presently Alonso grows bored with his finger drawing and shifts from his side onto his back sighing. It’s a content little sound and it brings a pleased smile to Jack’s lips (he is not above a little self-congratulation).

“I met a bloke once who talked you up something awful,” he shared unexpectedly.

“Oh yeah?”

A thoughtful hum was his only reply.

“All good things I hope,” Jack fished wondering who it could be. For a rouge time agent he really got around before being grounded on Earth there is literally a whole host of people Frame could have bumped into that knew Jack well enough to ‘talk him up’.

“I suppose that depends on your definition of good things.”

“Well go on enlighten me then.” He encouraged the midshipman shifting over to kiss the boy on top of the head so conveniently pillowed on his chest. Alonso snorted whether at Jack or the gesture the former Torchwood agent couldn’t be certain.

“Oh I’m not so certain I should go about feeding that ego of yours.” The boy quipped making Jack laugh.

“Now you’ve gone and roused my curiosity.” 

“Pretty sure that’s not the only thing of yours I’ve ‘roused’ this evening.”

“You’re not wrong there,” Jack admitted enjoying the feeling of Alonso chuckling at his side. They lapse back into silence then. A contemplative and companionable silence that Jack finds himself loath to break so he lets it linger and engulf them as a limited source of comfort. He’s just about dozed off when movement at his side brings him back to the land of the conscious. Alonso’s started to pepper his chest with soft, barely there, kisses murmuring gentle words in between each one. 

It doesn’t take long for Jack to figure out that the boys murmurs are a recitation of whatever he’d heard about the time traveler. They’re second source phrases that the midshipman seems hell bent on turning into a benediction. For what purpose Jack’s not sure – but he’s damn certain he doesn’t care to examine Alonso’s motives too closely not when he’s so focused on concentrating on the words being pressed into his skin above his heart.

“…the bravest men I ever knew….a bit daft at times, sometimes bordering on stupid, not to mention reckless…always got into trouble…a real miracle he’s still he’s still alive suppose he just got lucky if you can call it that…”

Jack wants to shush him, distract Alonso with kisses of his own (and more) but he’s also paralyzed by a burning need to know what the Doctor has said about him. (And really there’s no doubt in his mind that it was the Doctor who ‘talked him up’ to the midshipman – really who else would say such backhanded but kindly meant things about him).  
“…one of the few people who understand a bit what it’s like to be me…what it feels like to be alone…what it feels like to lose everything…how big the universe really is how long forever means…from the first moment I met him to the last time we said goodbye…he is one of the best friends I ever had.”

Alonso pauses in his ministrations to Jack’s chest long enough to pull back and look the man in the eye there’s something serious and undefined in his gaze that makes Jack want to squirm away and hide. He doesn’t deserve to regarded with such warmth.

“I spent that disaster of a Christmas eve cruise convinced that without the Doctor around I wouldn’t have held it together long enough to stay alive. I’m still convinced that’s the case. Then after the dust has – literally – settled he sits down next to me and waxes rhapsodically about some random bloke and all I can think to say in response is that I’d like to meet him someday. Because really any man who could leave such an impression on a fellow like the Doctor is a man worth meeting.”

He leans forward then to press his lips against Jack’s in a hard searing kiss that leaves no room for doubt in the immortal’s mind exactly how much the boy _means_ what he’s saying; 

“You’re a good man Jack Harkness,” is whispered against his lips as Alonso ends the kiss.

Instead of replying verbally Jack drops the liquor bottle rolls over and finishes what Alonso started by instigating round number four.

….

Sometime later Jack’s roused from the heady bliss of post-coital slumber to the sensation of fingertips ghosting up and down his back and the ghost like impression of kisses being pressed into his shoulder blades.

“Jack?”

“Hmm,” he basically grunts uncertain where this round of conversation is going to go and unwilling to commit to being awake enough to converse. 

“I think it’s time you went back Jack.” And that statement is like a bucket of cold water to the face.

“Wait, what? I thought we were having a good time.”

“We were, we did, and it’s come to an end like all good times should.” Alonso responded reassuringly but not reassuringly enough. Behind him the boy shifts to sit up in bed to slip on his pants whilst Jack rolls over to watch him ignoring the instinct to reach out for the boy and pull him back into bed.

Although a part of him appreciates the fact that Alonso understands –without having to be told – that this was nothing more than a spaceport fling; the rest of him burns under the weight of rejection. He can’t lose someone, a friend, again not on top of losing Ianto, Steven, Alice, not to mention Owen and Toshiko, and surely Gwen by now (how could she ever forgive him for abandoning her to her family with no support of anyone who _knew_ Torchwood, _knew_ the **truth** ). He just can’t.

“That woman who was with you at the bar – the tawny haired one – she knows you, doesn’t she?” Alonso asks as he gathers up his clothes.

“As well as anyone I suppose,” Jack answers reluctantly a little thrown by the question coming out of left field. In all honesty he’d forgotten Avery had been at the bar and never realized that Alonso had been near them long enough for the woman to make an impression.

“I think its best that you go talk to her Jack, seems like she wants to help you not just distract you.”

“Now hold on a minute –” he starts to protest unable to stand the idea that Alonso would walk away believing he was nothing more than a distraction, that he was used. Okay well yes he had been used – and very well too Jack might add – but not used _used_ everything they had done had been very much consensual. At least Jack had believed that was the case.

“Hush darling,” he comforts Jack reaching down to caress his face and place an affectionate kiss to his forehead, “no harm done we both got exactly what we wanted from each other. But you need something more than a good shag Jack, you need a friend, and she seems like a more reliable one than the Doctor.”

“You are a wonder Alonso Frame an absolute wonder.”

“Not so bad yourself Jack,” the midshipman returns with a shy blush.

“Could I tempt you with one more for the road?” He quips with a sly smile that promises all sorts of trouble making the sailor laugh.

“Oh you could tempt me until the end of days but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” he replies with a soft smile and one last kiss. “Go find your friend Jack.”

**~~~~~~~~~~~~~~**

Harkness touches down right in an alley off of some semi-busy street in central London. He only knows that thanks to century’s worth of familiarity with the streets of London and its back alleys. He can’t claim, in good conscious, to be happy with his current state of affairs. Jack never really planned on coming back to Earth at least not until a good dozen decades or so had slipped away. But Alonso had been more than persuasive and honestly Jack wanted to see her.

Keeping that thought in mind he starts off down the alley towards the early morning bustle of what turns out to be Oxford street right near Tottenham Court road. It quickly evaporates when he happens to spy today’s current offering of news proudly displayed front and center on some random newsstand. Above the center fold there’s a picture of the New York City skyline with an unmistakable space portal as the focus of the photo with the blurred forms of aliens on hovercrafts spewing out of it; _Clean up still Ongoing One Month After Incident_ reads the headline. Automatically Jack leans forward to check out the paper’s date 4th of June, 2012. He reels backwards glaring hatefully at the offending bit of newsprint.

It’s like Jack has hit a wall and all he can see is red.

_**“Oh for fucks sake!”**_ He yells throwing his arms up and turning about dramatically on his heel not giving two shits that everyone else currently out on the street is now looking at him as if he’s some escaped from the loony bin. 

He is seething. Jack should have been there – Torchwood should have been there to help at the very least if not outright prevent an alien invasion over the streets of New York. But thanks to some ponce at U.N.I.T and a soldier far too eager to follow orders Torchwood was dismantled three years previously.

That’s another thought that hits him like a brick wall. Not but fifteen minutes ago Jack was rolling about in some spaceports hotel room sheets with Alonso circa 2008 running from the total destruction of his life on Earth in 2009 and now he’s back on Earth and it’s 2012…..Suddenly he can understand and sympathize with Avery’s ongoing frustration with time travelers. It’s damn confusing and nearly impossible to keep anything coherent. 

_Sod it_ , Jack’s out of the game; he’s been rather forcefully retired and he’s not about to get back into it. Someone else can deal with the headache of alien invasions. Besides its about damn time America got stuck with an overtly hostile alien attack that couldn’t be swept up under the rug as easily as incidents like Roswell. He’s not here to get involved he’s here to find Avery then get the hell out of dodge once again. 

There’s just one problem; he has no idea how to find her. Jack’s about two seconds away from tearing his hair out and shouting his frustration to the heavens when his vortex manipulator beeps. Jack stares at it balefully and with no shortage of distrust either. He had every right to be wary of the device after all the last time it beeped like that it was to single the rather explosive return of his old frenemy John Hart. And that had precipitated what could only be accurately described as a clusterfuck of a family feud between Jack and his long lost brother. Needless to say Jack didn’t view the chirping of the manipulator in quite as friendly of a light as he used too.

Feeling resigned he stepped off the sidewalk into a nook between two storefronts and activated the device. The grimace his face had been wearing quickly disappeared when a hologram of Avery popped up.

_”Hiya Jacky boy,”_ her image greeted him giving an awkward little finger wave then bobbing a bit in a curtsy before grimacing and biting her lip in embarrassment. Jack’s never seen her act so awkwardly and actually giggled in surprise.

_“Christ that got awkward fast, look I have no idea how this shite works – you could say its ahead of my time, so just humor me here boyo,”_ the hologram Avery acknowledge rubbing at the back of her neck. _“I’m not sure when you’re going to actually get this message – it’s still the 70s for me and I’d only just left you moping in that space bar…. Look the Doctor was there so I’m trusting that I left you in good hands but it’s the Doctor and he wasn’t looking too good…so basically a fifty-fifty shot there I know,”_ she shrugs at that then sighs resignedly. 

_“I wasn’t too keen on leaving you there to be honest but it’s done,”_ she concluded squaring her shoulders and managing to look him dead in the eye (even from a hologram recording it was unnerving). _“ Alright Jack when you get your feet back on the ground look me up lad – and that’s not a polite request. I’ve never seen you in such a funk before and something tells me you could use a friend. “_ With a shy smile and another dorky little wave the recording flickered out.

Releasing his breath on one slow exhale Jack leans his head back against the brick wall and closes his eyes. That message has been waiting stored on Jack’s vortex manipulator since the 70s and somehow it’s gone unheard until this particular moment. He doesn’t’ know if he should be impressed or frustrated by Avery’s cunning. He’d really like to know how she managed it and how she managed to get travel to outer space to stumble across him in that bar at that particular time while he’s thinking about sweating her for answers – seems like the only way he’s going to manage to satisfy his curiosity is to seek her out. Just like she wants him too; Lord’s mercy that woman’s far too clever for her own good.

With a rueful smile Jack kicked off from the wall and strolled down the street. Now all he had to do was try to scare up her current location. Nearly immediately after that thought occurred to him his cell phone (the one he’d forgotten he still had) buzzed almost mockingly at him with an incoming text. He read it and couldn’t stop himself from throwing his head back and laughing uproariously.

Goddamnit he couldn’t hate the woman even if he wanted to.

…….

It didn’t take him long to reach the coordinates listed in the text sent from the anonymous number. Since his vortex manipulator was now in working order he simply programed the device and in seconds found himself landing in the middle of downtown Cruden Bay off the northern coast of Scotland. It looks to be a tourist town now what with golf courses off in the distance but still possess the charm of an old seaside village. There’s really not much to it although the town’s still large enough to boast its own library and primary school along with a post office and most notable a Chinese take-away. While upon the nearby cliff top there sits Slains Castle built by the 9th Earl of Erroll. All and all Jack’s not surprised that he was directed here just 26 miles north of Aberdeen.

He’s done some research over the years on Avery – in an attempt to track down her history (mostly out of curiosity but mainly so that he could finally, _finally_ , gain the upper hand) – and one of the earliest records he’d found and believed pertained to her came out of Aberdeen.

Still, although he might be in the right place now that doesn’t mean that Avery will just take pity on him and come to him. No this time Jack has to go to her. And that means asking around for intel on her potential whereabouts from the locals. Besides Avery might have sent him the coordinates to her most likely location but that was no guarantee that she was actually _here_ ; although, oddly enough it never occurred to Jack to seriously consider that he wouldn’t find her here waiting for him. She was never that needlessly difficult.

With that in mind Jack steps into the post office cum general store figuring that it would be the most logical spot to find someone willing to play tour guide. 

…….

Roughly thirty minutes later Jack finds himself hiking up a cliff side trail towards an old rubble-built cottage with walls of stone in various shapes and sizes underneath a roof of gray slate. He was surprised to note that the walls hadn’t been white-washed like he saw on other cottages on the way up the path but instead left to show the rocks natural coloration and wear. He got the sense that the structure predated that particular building trend. A chimney made out of larger stones lies lazily against the wayward side of the little cabin the spine of it twisted from age. 

The two windows that Jack could see were flung open to catch the summer sea breeze and underneath a slightly crooked lintel the front door stands ajar in an obvious open invitation for company. There’s no way that she couldn’t not hear him coming up the worn-in dirt path (with her remarkable haring she still would have heard his approach even if the house was buttoned up). There’s no way for Jack to drop in for a surprise visit; that is if this is truly Avery’s home as the postmaster led him to believe. Still knowing that even an ant would be unable to sneak up on her undetected was not an excuse for him to have shoddy manners – in fact he was fairly certain she’d eviscerate him for even daring to think of forgoing certain social necessities – therefore with a fortifying breath he raised a (slightly shaky) hand to knock upon the wooden door frame.  
Relief flooded his system upon hearing the familiar voice call out for him to:

“Stop being a ninny and get in here.”

There’s something unbelievably grounding in the realization that even when everything else has gone to hell in a handbasket Avery remains fundamentally the same; like a compass always pointing north. With a rueful chuckle Jack pushes the door open wider and takes that first tentative step inside.

The inside of the little stone cottage matches the outside (most notably in the fact that it’s not bigger on the inside – he wouldn’t put it past her to get her hands on some Time Lord tech and know how to use it) – simple and modest, exactly what one would expect from a seaside cottage. There are just three rooms with the front half of the cottage dominated by an open planned kitchen/living room and the rest of the space taken up by a bathroom and bedroom. Although, when he says rooms it’s rather misnamed on his part what with there being only three interior walls; two in the rear south-west corner that obviously house the indoor facilities and the third acting as a dividing wall meant to provide some semblance of privacy between the more public areas of the cottage and the boudoir. All in all it resembles a studio apartment, one that’s furnished for comfort rather than style and dated comfort at that. The icebox alone looks like its fresh off the factory floor circa 1959. A few bookcases line the stone walls on either side of the fireplace and well-loved rugs are placed haphazardly across the wooden floor. A sturdy wooden table set for three is rest behind the back of a faded brown sofa. Tucked up into the corner of said sofa wrapped in a blanket with her legs folded under her and a book on her lap, sitting like the queen she pretends not to be, is Avery.

“I see you got my message.” Is all she says the _‘took you long enough’_ is implied.

“Thanks for leaving it.” Is the only thing he can think of to say in reply; well not the only thing it’s just the first thing he manages to say. Her lips twitch a little in amusement at that and he wants to ask how does she know – how could she possibly _know_ that he’s the same twisted up and self-loathing schmuck she left to get drunk then fuck away his pain from ’08 finally responding to a message she left in ‘75 four (and thirty-seven) years later … but he doesn’t. He also wants to ask her desperately how she arranged it all but he keeps that question to himself as well. There’s just some things he’s not meant to have the answers too and he’s made his peace with that…for the most part.

Instead he finally steps out of the doorway and takes a few clumsy steps inside, rounding the sofa and forgetting to shut the door. He’s searching for some sort of snappy comeback; hoping to redirect the conversation they both know he came here to have into something a little more irreverent than solemn, when they’re interrupted before things could even get started.

“Gran!” A woman calls out; voice sharpened by worry. “Gran! Are ye alright?!?”

Whoever it is comes rushing through the open door on the heels of her question like a sudden summer squall. Jack has just enough presence of mind to step out of her way as she zeros in on Avery; charging to her side to kneel before her then reaching out to cover the mutants nearest hand with both of hers.

“Colin said there was a man asking after ye down at the post office – an American by the sound of ‘em but Colin said he didn’t smell right. Thought he smelled like – well hell it doesn’t matter what he thought and I didn’t want to stick around to hear it anyways; wanted to check in on ye first afore I gave any weight to his nonsense. This American has he found ye yet? What does he want? Do ye think he’s another one of those bloody damn – oh!”

Abruptly she stopped the headlong rush of words to bite her lip and glare balefully at Jack; finally noticing that they had an audience. He can’t tell if her instant dislike of him is some misplaced backlash from embarrassment or if she’s only biting her lip so ferociously to prevent herself from immediately delivering a verbal smack down that he has no doubts his manhood would never recover from. Unperturbed (as he always has been when making a new acquaintance – particularly an attractive one) Jack gives her a jaunty little wave and a cocky grin prepaid to deliver his standard greeting (and invitation to get know each other in the biblical sense) when Avery clears her throat; transparently reproachful. She favors him with a slightly amused glower; mouth puckered in slight frowny pout and one eyebrow raised in an eloquent challenge for all that it went unspoken. It’s obvious that she was daring him to just go ahead and _try_ flirting with the other woman in front of her – or ever – and just as obvious from Avery’s expression that he wouldn’t enjoy what would happen to him if he did. And while Jack is many things, chief among them being a shameless flirt, he’s never stupid enough to gainsay Avery once she’s decided to declare someone (or something) off limits and has gone ahead and made her wishes known.  (only a moron with a death wish would be that stupid or so blinded by hubris that he’d willingly bait the lion in her den)

So he allows his smile to morph into something a little apologetic and a whole lot more genuine then takes the time to study the newcomer as someone other than a potential conquest. He can practically taste Avery’s approval as he shifts his attention away from sex and onto more mundane topics. Though, he should have remembered that with Avery nothing was ever mundane. Later he’ll want to blame a slight hangover from both all the alcohol he’s consumed lately as well as a time jumps he’s made for not noticing right away just how similar the two women appear in both manners and looks. He’s going to claim that the stranger’s burnished golden hair with its liberal smattering of grey mixed in and the crows-feet around her eyes as well as the laugh lines etched into her forehead threw him off and he knows that Avery will play along but never believe him. Still, it takes him a moment to realize that they just might be related and belatedly attempts to suppress the visceral double take that snakes through at the thought. Judging by the quirk of Avery’s lips he wasn’t as successful at hiding it as he hoped. 

“Gran,” and boy howdy Jack hasn’t had that much suspicion leveled at him since Gwen ‘constable’ Cooper first bludgeoned her way into his life. “Who’s this? What the hell do ye want?”

In his defense Jack thoroughly believed them to be rhetorical questions and that she really wasn’t looking for him to answer. A mistake in judgement it would seem since she took his lack of response as a personal insult; visibly bristling then making to stand up only to be stopped by Avery’s hold on her hand.

“Easy child,” Avery chided the other woman but didn’t have the decency to hide just how entertained she was by the whole kerfuffle, “this one’s actually a friend.”

“Oh,” and with that one syllable the fight flowed right out of her, “well then, Gran why didn’t ye say so.”

“I just did.”

“Hush you, yer impossible and it’s time for tea.” She declared getting up off the floor and bustling into the kitchen. Taking advantage of the stranger’s turned back Avery rolled her eyes in fond exasperation then with a jerk of her chin indicated that Jack should take a seat in one of the armchairs that bracketed the hearth. Not needing to be told twice Jack took the one that left him facing her as well as providing him a view of the kitchen and the woman moving purposefully about in it.

“Would the American care for some tea?”

“The American would and he has a name,” Jack answered, amused despite himself.

“Well I dare say he does but Gran’s manners seem to have abandoned her in her old age,” the woman quipped then continued with a put upon sigh. “Twas inevitable I suppose, something was bound to go first, guess its better manners than memory.” She finished setting the kettle to boil.

Avery for her part grinned wolfishly at the teasing, welcoming it.

And that, that right there was what had Jack so wrong-footed. The stranger looked like she could have been Avery’s mother – what with her gray speckled hair and all – and they could have easily passed for sisters but…. Knowing Avery like he did and having an inkling about her true age, Jack knew that out of the two of them she was older and yet she made no objections to being called ‘Gran’ and impudently at that. Which would suggest that Avery hadn’t kept her age a secret moreover that meant… well, it meant that Jack was developing a blinding headache. _Christ on a pogo stick this is like trying to make the Doctor sit still long enough to actually explain himself – bloody impossible._ It didn’t help that his confusion was tempered with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu; he’s experienced this exact type of headache inducing paradox the last time he witnessed Avery interacting with one of her normally aging offspring. 

“Sophia this is Jack Harkness,” Avery supplies jostling him from his woolgathering and nearly laughing outright, “Jack say hello to my great granddaughter Sophia. I believe you met her brother Colin at the post office.”

Jack remembered the postmaster – a cheerful fellow who couldn’t have been younger than fifty if that – yet that didn’t stop him from saying;  
“That handsome older gent with the salt & pepper hair?”

“Aye that would be him,” Sophia answered her sea-glass eyes narrowing. It would seem that his reputation had preceded him yet again. Just then the kettle went off and Jack was spared any further comments Sophia might make as she set about fixing them a cup.

“If you’ll excuse me Gran, I think I need to have a talk with my brother.” She made her goodbyes even as she handed out a cup to Avery and Jack.

“Of course my dear, go and do what you must,” and with a magnanimous flick of her hand Avery gave her blessings. Smiling amusedly at the eternally young matriarch Sophia ducked to give her a swift kiss on the cheek before breezing out of the cottage as suddenly as she had stormed in; the faint thud of the door closing the only way to mark her passing.

The door had barely shut before Avery was chortling into her tea cup. It doesn’t take long for her chortling to develops into outright laughter that she no longer bothers to stifle.

“That girl never did know how to recover from sticking her foot in her mouth,” she eventually manages to explain between sips of tea and resounding guffaws of laughter.

“Gran?” He asks arching an inquiring eyebrow at her and sipping at his own expertly prepared tea. She only laughs even harder at that practically howling with mirth now actual tears gathering at the corner of her eyes as she bends over to place her cup on the floor and out of immediate danger of spillage.

“Dear god your face!,” she gasped wiping at an errant tear. “The minute you finally processed what she was calling me – priceless Jack, absolutely bloody _priceless!_ Wish I thought to take a picture.”

“Wish you did, I would’ve liked to have seen it,” he agreed good-naturedly. He had no doubt that he’d looked as poleaxed as he had felt and couldn’t find it in him to be embarrassed especially when it made her laugh like that. It was such a rarity to find her so relaxed and inclined towards honest mischief that Jack had no problems with playing along even at the expense of his own dignity. (Particularly if it continued to delay the inevitable conversation they both knew needed to be had).

“I take it that they know about you and your whole not dying thing,” it was more of a statement than a question and Jack left it hanging for her to take as she choose hiding behind another careful sip of tea. He was aware just how much of his own jealousy (and bitterness) the comment had revealed. Seems like in trying to skit the issue at hand he ended up diving in headfirst.

“Aye they know,” she answers those golden eyes watching him thoughtfully.

“The whole village,” he presses waving his arm about in an arch meant to indicate the collection of buildings and people lying sleepily beyond the walls of the cottage and down the coastline. 

“Those who need to know the truth,” she responds continuing to regard him with that thoughtful gaze. He did not care for that look in her eyes; it felt like she saw right through him to all the hidden dark depths of him that were meant to stay tucked away.

“And the rest what do they think?”

“Common belief is that I bear a remarkable resemblance to some long dead Wallace matriarch and the rest of the family clan calls me ‘Gran’ as some sort of inside joke.”

“So when Sophia calls you Gran…”

“ ‘Tis the gospel truth,” is the blunt reply and Avery chews her lip to keep from smiling at whatever expression she sees on his face now. “We just simplify things for convenience’s sake. After all it was really her great-great-great-great grandfather who was my son and any other mode of address would be too damn formal and cumbersome to use.”

He watches her flabbergasted by the unabashed forthrightness of her answers. Jack’s known her for a while now (by his count – and as far as he’s aware – they’ve had a baker’s dozen worth of run-ins) and he likes to think that he knows her (which is a difficult claim to make since you only get to know Avery as well as she’s willing to let you) but he’s never seen her so at ease. And it shows, not just in her willingness to laugh at inconsequential things but in the way she’s remained curled up and cozy in her perch. She’s making no attempt to play the part of the aloof seer that people tend to impose upon her, nor is she making any attempt to be anything other than what she is; a young woman enjoying a lazy summer afternoon. 

Jack’s always understood her near pathological need to keep as much of her history to herself and consequently to just keep a safe distance between herself and others – he also desired to keep prying but well-meaning folk out of his personal business as much as possible and never wanted to risk getting too attached (not that that ever stopped him). In that way they were very much the same. There were just some things that were too private, too painful to share no matter how many lifetimes one lived. He’s never pressed her for any of the sordid details about her history and she’s always respected his wishes not to share his own. Yet here she was more relaxed than he’d ever think to see her. Furthermore, he knew that if he were to pry here in this place she’d let him and willingly volunteer the answers. He’s not sure he wants to though.

It occurs to him that the reason she’s so relaxed is because this is the place where she feels at home, where she feels comfortable enough to let her guard down entirely. Jack’s never known Avery to be unguarded not once in all of the long years of their friendship. He has always gotten the sense from her that there was always one more barrier for him to climb in order to really _know_ her and she wasn’t willing to let him past the last of her defenses. To see her as she was now was disconcerting. Like peeking behind the curtain and discovering that the wizard was in fact nothing more than a twenty- something young woman who’d been burned far too many times by humanity's indifference to bother showing up so she’d been phoning it in until just then. 

Looking at her now and knowing that she was just as old as he – if not older – and just as tired of it all only made him feel ancient. And unlike Avery, he’d had a short cut. Jack had been able to skip willy nilly about the stars through time and space, to live his life in any order he saw fit. Thanks to his years as a Time Agent and then the time he’s spent traveling with the Doctor. When he sat down to think about it the only chunks of ‘time’ he’s experienced in a linear fashion so far, to his knowledge, has been the century he worked for Torchwood while stuck on Earth waiting for the right version of the Doctor to make another house call, then the 1,874 years he spent buried alive in an never ending cycle of death and rebirth curtsy of his brother under Cardiff, and lastly the 107 years he was in cryopreservation to prevent forming a paradox from having multiple versions of himself active during the 20th century. Avery, well, Avery’s experienced the entirety of her life in one lump sum. She’s never gotten a break from it. Which means when Jack had bumped into her for the first time, if it even was the first time, when he had just started to travel with Rose and the Doctor that Avery had lived all those years in one never ending slog. Not even the Doctor could say he’s done that. But then, he wouldn’t have the patience for it. There would have to have been years, decades, fuck _centuries_ where nothing abso- _bloodly_ -lutely nothing happened. The Doctor would have perished from sheer boredom a month in, if he even made it that long.

“Ah, looks like you’ve got the gist of it now bucko.” She interrupted his thoughts with a gentle chuckle.

“How do you do it?”

“Well for starters, it’s not like I have much of a choice in the matter.”

“Don’t be persnickety, you know what I meant. They’ll die on you, sooner or later, they’ll die. How do you live with that?”

“You just do,” that was a pretty unsatisfactory answer she’d just given him and he gave her the stink eye for it. “Look I know you think I’m being pedantic or facetious here but that’s the crux of the matter, you live and you remember them. What more do you expect to be able to do Jack?”

“I don’t know, something clever!”

“There’s nothing clever that can be done to prevent the inevitable Jack,” she tells him her golden eyes uncommonly gentle and Jack finds himself squirming in his seat to avoid her gaze.

“The Doctor could think of something,” he protested. He knew he was behaving like a petulant child but for some reason he couldn’t give up this one delusion even knowing that the Doctor had already failed him when it counted.

“No he couldn’t Jack, not even the Doctor can outfox Death.”

“Then if we have no choice, how do we really live with it?”

“Well, allow yourself to mourn for starters, then allow yourself to love again.”

He stared at her absolutely agogged that that was her answer. In return she simply shifted her position on the couch and opened her arms to him in a wordless invitation for a cuddle. He went to her immediately not bothering to overthink why he was going. When he got to the sofa he ditched his boots and folded his six foot frame in between her side and the sofa cushions. Chuckling softly herself, Avery pulled a second knitted blanket off the back of the sofa to drape it over Jack, trench coat and all even as he nuzzled at her neck.

“I really hate you right now,” he muttered into the juncture of her neck and her shoulder as he felt himself start to tear up for the umpteenth time over Ianto’s death and the disillusionment of his world as he knew it.

“I know. I can live with that though, if you can.”

**Author's Note:**

> The bit I have Alonso say is inspired directly by a photo edit [found here](https://www.deviantart.com/taikaze/art/My-Brave-Jack-261900030). I believe I managed to track down the original artist to give proper credit - if anyone knows better please let me know!


End file.
